


Gunshot

by Been_Winchestered



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, John Finds Out, M/M, Pre-Series, Sibling Incest, Temporary Character Death, despite my usual pro-john stance I wrote this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 18:53:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4490826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Been_Winchestered/pseuds/Been_Winchestered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there is a bullet to be eaten, he claims it as inheritance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gunshot

If there were any sort of justice in the world, it would be obvious: Sam started it.All the blame should be laid on his shoulders, and gun to his head, he will swear to it.

But Dean is the good soldier, the loyal son, the older brother.If there is a bullet to be eaten, he claims it as inheritance.The firstborn’s birthright.He will die for Sam someday – he’s tried to twice already, and that was before, when they were only brothers.Sam just hopes to God that it isn’t by their father’s hand, and that he has the chance to remind Dean he is loved before he goes.

They are careful, so careful.They starve for each other’s affection for each other’s sake, through the endless road trip and the brutal hunts.Dean feigns his old womanizing ways under their father’s eye, and Sam turns his head and feigns indifference.Once they are reunited and alone, Dean murmurs pleas for forgiveness and Sam reassures him there is nothing to forgive, every time.

If John ever finds out, Sam knows he could set his jaw and face the man. He does love his father, but he never could put up with him for long.There is some twisted part of Sam that could relish the look on his father’s face, shoulder past, and never look back.If it wasn’t for Dean, Sam would have already left anyway, he’s certain.But Dean? He isn’t like that. 

And so, although Dean sees himself as the protector, and often teases by asking, _“Sammy, you know you’re the girl in this relationship, right?”,_ Sam shoulders the role of defender in his own way.Hushed reassurances when Dean drunkenly insists that he’s no good and Sam should leave him.Civil words to their father, even on the worst of days.Well laid plans to make the most of it when they are finally alone.Watchful eyes that stay open long after Dean has dozed off, sated and content in the crook of Sam’s arm.

But when they are found out, the stars aren’t in their favor, Providence already abandoned them long ago, and Sam is sound asleep.He doesn’t wake until he hears the gunshot.

* * *

 

Dean wakes first, alerted by a creak in the floorboards.His father looms in the doorway with any shock or surprise he had gone from his face, replaced by the careful mask of a hunter.So he’s been there a while, then.Shame floods Dean’s body and he gets up with a labored sigh.Tugs on his jeans, leaves behind his gun.He doesn’t look at Sammy, sure as hell doesn’t attempt to wake him, but he carefully lifts his amulet from his bare chest and leaves it on the bedside table.John walks out and Dean falls in line behind him, as always.

They say nothing until they are on the far side of the hayfield and the cold ground has numbed Dean’s feet.John aims his colt at the monster before him, steady as always, and asks, “How long?”

“Three years, as of next month.”Somehow, Dean finds the courage to meet his father’s gaze and hold it.

“You’ve been fucking your brother since he was sixteen?”

“No, that started later.”

“What the hell, Dean.”John Winchester’s lip quivers.  

“Just do what you have to do.” The world has officially ended.Pull the damn trigger already.

“How did it start?”

“I was drunk.”

“You started it?”

Dean hesitates.

“Did you start it? Answer me.”

“Yes sir.”

“You’ve never been good at lying to me, boy.”

“No sir, I haven’t been.”

“Sam started it?”

“I swear by my mother, I started it.”

And there is the anger Dean’s been waiting to see, it flickers across his father’s face.Still, he carefully resumes his hunter’s demeanor and doesn’t pull the trigger.

Dean works his jaw and continues. “Do it.You’re in the business of putting monsters down, it’s nothing new.But don’t you dare hurt my brother.”

“I won’t hurt your brother.”

“Let him have the car?”

“Turn around.”

“I didn’t say goodbye.He’s not gonna forgive me for that.”

“Turn around.On your knees, son.”

“No.”

“Dean, turn around.”

He shifts on his feet, he sets his jaw, but he doesn’t turn around.

* * *

“Dean?” Sam startles awake with the name already in his mouth, hand moving across the bed to register his brother’s absence. The gunshot is only an echo in his head, but he knows he heard it.  Dean’s gone.   His boxers and his worn Led Zeppelin tee remain on the floor, but not his jeans.  His amulet is on the bedside table. Wrong.

“Dean?” He tugs on his sweatpants and pads into the main room of the cabin.Out the window, he sees the long black car, three days earlier than expected.Oh God.

“No, no, no.” He retrieves his Beretta from the bedroom, runs for the front door when his brain barely registers movement to his right.Framed in the kitchen window, he can see a figure standing in the field, head bowed.He runs for the back door.

Sam sprints across the field and falls to his knees beside his brother, shaky hands outstretched to gather him into his arms, but too afraid to touch.This isn’t real. It can’t be real.

“Son.” 

“You son of a bitch.” Sam stands and aims.

“Sam –“

“Leave now, or I will kill you, I swear to God.”

* * *

Sam loses track of time, and he doesn’t get Dean inside before he goes cold.  He fetches a ragged quilt off the bed and carries Dean in it, carefully keeping his face and the gaping hole in the back of his skull covered and out of sight.  He talks softly to him between sobs as he lays him out on the bed, as if Dean just needs stitching up.

His indecision about whether to kill John or kill himself ends in a whiskey soaked stupor, slumped in the wooden chair in the corner of the bedroom. 

* * *

Bobby arrives in the middle of the night, gets Sam on his feet and puts a shovel in his hands.  They have a grave dug and a nearly finished pyre at sunrise when Sam finally becomes cognizant again of where he is and what he is doing.

“No,” he says, dropping an armful of firewood.“No, I‘m not gonna burn him.”He is going to save him.He is going to bring him back.Everything he needs is in the cabin.The crossroads is less than a mile out.

Bobby is understanding, but firm.They have to salt and burn the body.It’s what Dean would have wanted, and it’s what has to be done.But when Sam draws his gun and blocks the bedroom door, Bobby agrees that a salted grave is enough for now, and offers to fetch a pine box.

While Bobby is gone, Sam cleans his brother of blood and dresses him in fresh clothes, including his favorite t-shirt and his leather jacket.He makes sure Dean has his effects as well.Knife, colt, lighter, wallet, phone, amulet.He doesn’t wrap Dean the way that they were taught.He leaves the sheets loose as a covering, not a binding.

Laying Dean in the pine box feels wrong.It’s too small.He won’t be able to breathe. He gets claustrophobic.

Sam doesn’t say goodbye. Because it’s not goodbye, it can’t be.But he whispers to him.“You’re okay. You’re safe, I promise.”

The box isn’t is as heavy as it should be.  

The hole is far too deep.

Bobby presses a shovel into his hands again, and suddenly the panic hits him.

“N-no, I love him.I love him.I can’t leave him down there.Please.I love him.”

* * *

The air is stale and filled with death.  

 Dean fights his ways through wood and loose earth to meet the sunrise, lungs burning.  

“Sammy?”Fuck, it’s freezing.

The cabin has been unoccupied for at least a couple weeks, judging by the layer of dust and the lack of food in the kitchen.But the tap is working, thank god.Dean shoves his head underneath it and drinks in long gulps.

He checks his pockets.Someone knew he would be waking up and would need his shit.There was only one grave out there.So where’s Sammy?

His cell phone is dead and so is the landline.So, he picks a direction and starts walking along the empty highway.

* * *

Of course, he’s two hours south when the deal goes down – that’s just Sam’s luck – and the odds of Dean staying put are slim.  Sam floors it.

He dials Dean’s number over and over and gets the voicemail every time. _“Hey, this is Dean, leave a message.”_ God, he’s missed his voice.

He doesn’t pass a single hitchhiker.  

The grave is empty and so is the cabin.Where the fuck is he?

He drives north.Fifteen minutes.Twenty minutes.

Twenty-six minutes from the cabin, Sam sees a familiar body hunched against the cold and walking in long strides.Then Dean turns – of course he does, he knows the sound of his baby anywhere – and stares as Sam puts her in park.

“Dean! Baby, I’m – “He manages to block the punch, but Dean grabs him by the jacket and hauls him against the car.

“What the fuck you do!?”There’s more terror than anger in the question.

“Baby.Just.Calm down. You’re alive –“

“I fucking know I’m alive, Sam.What the fuck did you do!?I swear to God, if you sold your soul– “

“I didn’t! I was going to, but I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Dad beat me to it.”

Dean shoves off of him and walks out into the road, wiping his hand over his mouth.When he turns back, the distrust in his eyes sends a shiver down Sam’s spine.

“I’m not lying.He regretted what he did, he made a deal to set it right.”

Dean scoffs.“There’s nothing right about it.”

“I don’t care, I love you.”

Dean swallows and looks away down the empty stretch of highway.Sam says his name again, a broken sound, and Dean comes back to him.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” he says and lets Sam pull him into his arms.He reeks of death and dirt but he’s alive.He’s alive.

* * *

They don’t talk during the drive and they don’t talk in the motel room.  Showers are taken, guns are cleaned, and they go to bed.  They don’t fuck.  Sam doesn’t even ask for it.  

When Dean curls in on himself, Sam slips his arms around his waist and presses an ear to his back.Listens to his heart. Mimics his breathing.

“Why’d you let him do it?” he whispers.

Dean’s mouth is slack and his breathing is even, but Sam listens to his heart rate increase.

“I know you’re awake.Why’d you let him shoot you?”

Dean shudders.

“You didn’t think he’d really do it, did you?”

Sam can hear the tears in his brother’s voice when he answers.“No, I didn’t.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are appreciated.


End file.
